Atlas Cloud And The Amulet of Thieves (3 page)

“We have to go, now!” He shouts up to me, while rushing to his study.

“What? What do you mean we have to go?” I said, racing down the stairs to find him. He’s packing a bag with some old books and other supplies, whilst changing into some clothes that were draped over the sofa. “What’s going on?”

“We have to go.” He said not letting me in on what the hell was happening.

“Why was the magician from the theatre at the door?” I said raising my voice, showing him that I don’t want some idle chat as a response.

“Don’t worry about him we have to go, here get changed and hurry.” He said throwing me a pair of jeans and an old t shirt.

“Where are we going? Stop! Stop! Stop!” I roar at him. He stopped packing; he sighed and slowly walked over to me.

“I know you want answers, and I will tell you everything you want to know, but right now I need you to get changed and come with me.” He paused for a moment. “Please.” This was different than the theatre, this was more urgent. He was desperate.

“Ok.” I whisper back to him, annoyed, but with trust.

We get in the car and we start driving. I stay quiet; I know he doesn’t want to tell me anymore so I won’t frustrate him with incessant nagging. I’m sat in the front seat wearing tattered jeans and an old He-man t-shirt. I’m freezing! I can see the impatience and the panic slapped on his face. Made me feel anxious, if he was worried then it must be something serious. What was the magician doing here? Did he know him? I have so many questions. I rest my head against the window and let the soft hum of the car engine and the rumble of the parts around it drift me off to sleep. I don’t know how long this journey is going to be, so I might as well get some rest. I glance back over to look at my dad, watching him drive the car as if he was being chased. I wasn’t scared, whatever it was, he could solve it. I hold on to the thought of my dad and the protection he brings, hopefully when I see her face he will be there, standing by my side.

I awake to the smell of smoke and burning plastic. Blood is dripping up my face, and splashing against the ceiling. My vision is hazy. The blood running over my eyes. The car has flipped and I’m upside down, there was broken glass and fire all around me. I search right for dad, to see if he’s hurt. The smoke filling the car was blocking most of my view, the black death climbing down my throat, infecting me from the inside. I pat the seat next to me to feel him, but there was nothing there. Maybe he got out and is calling for help or maybe he was thrown from the car. I disregarded the thought instantly. I have to get out. I tug at my seat belt, it’s jammed. The plastic melting together, changing the seat belt from a safety feature to the final nail in the coffin. I pull harder, using my hanging weight as leverage until the latch breaks. I let out a yelp and I fall on the sun roof. I flip over and reach out for the closest door handle, the smoke has completely engulfed me and I’m holding my breath to stop the silent nightmare from penetrating my nostrils and throat. I feel a cold breeze after reaching out my hand, much different to the cold air at home that causes a shiver up my spine. My window must have smashed in the crash. I crawl out, using the sides of the car door to drag my damaged body out of the wreckage. Crushing glass into my elbows and knees, it was so hot it felt as if the car was a crematorium and I was the unsuspecting corpse, ready to be incinerated. I feel grass between my fingers, sweet smelling and not as sharp as the shards of glass. I look up to see a field with a forest in the distance; we must have been knocked off the road in the accident. I spot dad sitting up against the side of the car. He was unconscious and the flames of the car were getting closer as if he was their prey and they were the vultures circling the wounded. I get up on my feet forgetting about the crippling pain running through my arm. I rush to his side and grab his face.

“Are you alright?” No response. “Come on, come on get up.” His eyes flicker under his eye lids. He was incapacitated. Without wasting any more time near the smoke, I lift him under the shoulders and try to drag him to safety, still ignoring the immense pain. I think I’ve dislocated my arm. I manage to trail him far enough away and lay him down on the soft, innocent grass. The once old car becoming a very new fireball behind us. We were a good twenty metres from the crash but the incredible heat still reached out and touched my body. He murmured and then opened his eyes to see me hunched over him. He grabbed my hand and said

“Atlas.” He paused to spit up blood and cough. I wished that the red eyed lady would appear so that I knew it was a dream. “I told you to go already…” He said, the synapses in his brain firing off randomly, he was confused. “Atlas, you’re the only one left now ya hear. “ He said not taking his brown eyes from my blues. I’m weeping hysterically.

“What do you mean? It’s going to be fine; it’s just a flesh wound,” I said lying to myself. “Help! Help!” I shout out into the dark, silent abyss hoping to be saved from this new nightmare.

“Look at me.” He growled taking hold of my face with his broken, mangled hands. “I love ya, you hear, I always have.” He said his grip on my face loosening. This was the first time he has ever told me. I feel his grip loosen even more and I clasp his hand and hold them against my chest, his head tilted back and his eyes roll into their sockets and then he was gone. Taken from me. Stolen from me. Now I’m alone.

4 -BLACK DAY-

It’s been weeks now since the car crash. I haven’t been the same since. Eli has done everything he can to make me feel better. I couldn’t go back to the house; it reminded me of him too much. Eli took me in. He lives with his grandparents, his mum and dad died when he was very young and they took him in and raised him. Both of us stripped away from our normal lives, the sound of rain and wheels screeching on the road haunting both of us. He only has pictures of them not even memories. I slept in his bed whilst he slept on the floor in a sleeping bag. I protested but he is as stubborn as I am and he finally won. The comfy bed and the night light stars that litter Eli’s ceiling give me no comfort. He insists that they are still on the ceiling because he hasn’t had time to get them down, but I know that he likes them. The soft green glow making the dark seem, less threatening. I wake up every night to a different nightmare now. The lady is gone I don’t know for how long but she has been replaced with the image of his face and the sound of sirens. I can’t help but remember.

I sit back from the now lifeless body of my father, letting the anger seep through every orifice of my body. I look deep into the forest for help. I scan the distance, I see a shadow, it looked like a man, maybe he could help? The smell of smoke burns my nostrils and I cough and move further away from the wreckage. I quickly look back at the wall of bark pillars to find the man that can save us. But he was gone, a figment of a distraught boys mind, teasing me with the idea of hope.

“Pancakes, pancakes,” I hear this voice in the back of my head, I turn around and its Eli standing in the doorway.

“Oi, are you listening to me? Ma has made pancakes,

you coming?” He said eager with excitement, like a child on Christmas. Well like him on Christmas.

“We’ve had pancakes three times this week.” I said.

“Your point being?” He said

“Fair point, I will be down in a minute.” I said waving him away. I put on the shorts and shirt on the side of my bed and head downstairs. I wrap a sling around my arm to holster the battered arm. Not too long now until I can take this bloody thing off. We all sat there at the dinner table me, Eli and Pa ready and waiting for Ma to lather our plates with sugary pancakes. I haven’t eaten anything substantial in days; everything is starting to lose its flavour, the scent of pudding and pot roast turning my stomach. Ma circled the table, dishing out pancakes, slapping them on the plate, pouring honey and chocolate sauce all over them. I didn’t want to seem rude and push the plate to the side, but just looking across the table at Eli and Pa ravaging their plates made me feel worse. After a good five minutes of pushing the same chunk of pancake around my plate I realise that even the smell of chocolate sauce makes me want to retch. As I had no other family, the Thorne’s insisted I call them Ma and Pa, which feels weird but oddly comforting. Ma walked around the table with a smile on her face but more of a smile of pity.

“It’s alright dear, you’ll feel better soon I promise.” She said taking the plate off me. How does she know? She has never felt this way.

“Just best not to think about it.” Pa said giving me a small nod while squirting what looked like a gallon of chocolate sauce all over his breakfast. Best not to think about it? I have the image of dad’s death burnt into my memory, how do I not think about it? When I dream of it every night.

I sit there on the back of an ambulance, with an oxygen mask and a tinfoil blanket over me. Standing in front of me is a fat, bearded man with a pen and a notepad, asking me questions. I can hardly hear him, it’s as if I’m stuck in a bubble, it just sounds like murmuring and muffled speech. Does he really expect me to answer coherently? There’s a paramedic standing next to him, making sure I’m breathing properly. Who knows how long I was hanging upside down, inhaling the smoke for? I can still smell the grey death invading my sinuses and infecting my lungs. I keep thinking to myself that he is going to walk around the corner and everything will be alright. He was just injured but the paramedics managed to save him. I look past the police officer to see another group of paramedics. They’re not here to save anyone. They raise one of the flat beds into the back of an ambulance, the flatbed carried a solid black body bag, zipped up to the top, protecting the body from the outside world. But they’re always too late. The doors closed and they drove away. He’s gone forever and the last image of him burnt onto my retina is of fire and smoke and blood and a solid black zip lock bag.

I guess the reason for the extra attention is because it’s his funeral today. Personally I don’t think I can take standing over him as he is lowered into his grave, listening to a priest rattle on about god, even though he had better things to do than to save him from this eternal bed sit. The drive to the cemetery was long and awkward; no one said a word despite Ma quipping small talk every now and then. The walk to the service was painful, strolling past gravestone after gravestone. Knowing that I wasn’t alone in walking this path, many others have and many others will after me. There were already people huddled around the coffin when we got there. They broke open from their shell and created a path for us. Their eyes glaring at us, faces that I didn’t recognise. I see a lot of sad and lost faces, but no one I remember. How close were these relatives? I only remember the odd person here or there, but nothing personal, just the face. I must have been too young to fully understand who they were.

I stood, staring at these strangers, trying to understand how he might have known them. The coffin was only a couple of feet away from me. It made me feel so angry. It was welling up inside of me, wanting to burst out into a rage and slaughter everyone, ripping them limb from limb watching as their faces grimaced as I take away their life like his was taken from him. Unfairly. I grit my teeth and clench my fist, holding back the urges. Breathing out slowly, calming myself. At the crash he left me his ring. He wore it all the time, never taking it off. When I let go of his hand, there it was. I twiddled it through my fingers, releasing the frustration. Letting the anger melt away. The ring was rustic and old; a small gemstone was embedded into it. It had no colour. I stared into it, falling into its trap. It must be a mood ring or something. The colour of the gem changing with how emotional you are. It didn’t work, the gem was just black. You could look at it forever, like it was drawing you in, promising you the universe. It’s siren melody pulling you further in. I shook my head of the temptress and focused on the ceremony. I scan over the other mourners, hoping to find just one person I recognise. Just one person I can talk to. My eyes jumping from one person to another, but my gaze lingers for just a moment and I spot someone. He wasn’t at the service; he was far in the background. I look passed them, beyond them at a very large, very old oak tree. There was a man standing there, leaning on it watching the service. He was tall, wearing a long, dark yellow coat and carrying a walking stick.

“The magician!” I said under my breath, realising that I had said it louder than I thought. Everyone looked over, briefly puzzled at the random phrase that was just blurted out while the vicar was talking. I nod, smiling, I can feel my face getting red and embarrassed. The priest frowned and he carried on. Why was he here? And why did he come to the house? I have to find out, I have to speak to him, I turn and whisper to Eli. “I have to go.”

“What?” He replied.

“I need to go, I will see you at home ok. “ I said turning away from the pit and shuffling through the people behind me. They didn’t try and stop me they just moved out of the way. I get to the end, breaking through the grief and reaching freedom. Eli followed me, tapping me on the shoulder. “I meant I had to go alone.” I said using a hushed tone.

“I know what you said, but I’m not leaving you on your own, what sort of friend do you think I am?” he said, with a reluctant smile on his face. I decided to accept the fact that he will come with me, despite wanting to be alone. I look back at the oak tree and the illusive illusionist was gone. I have to find him.